That aristocratic, exclusive German officer, staring at you, elbowing you if you did not give him right of way in the street, seemed to express insufferable caste to the outsider. But he was a part of the system which had won; and he worked longer hours than the officers of other European armies. Seeming to enjoy enormous privileges, he was really a circumscribed being, subject to all the rigid discipline that he demanded of others, bred and fashioned for war. Wherever I have met foreign military attachés observing other wars, the German was the busiest one, the most persistent and resourceful after information; and he was not acting on his own initiative, but under careful instructions of a staff who knew exactly what it wanted to know. “Germany shall be first!” was his motto; “Germany shall be first!” the motto of all Germans.
In the same way that von Moltke constructed his machine army, the Germany of the young Kaiser set out to construct a machine civil world. He had a public which was ready to be moulded, because plasticity to the master’s hand had beaten France. Drill, application, and discipline had done the trick for von Moltke—these and leadership. The new method was economic education plus drill, application, and discipline.
It is not for me to describe the industrial beehive of modern Germany. The world knows it well. The Kaiser, who led, worked as hard as the humblest of his subjects. From the top came the impetus which the leaders passed on. Germany looked for worlds to conquer; England had conquered hers. The energy of increasing population overflowed from the boundaries, pushing that wedge closer home to an England growing more irritably apprehensive.
Wherever the traveller went he found Germans, whether waiters, or capitalists, or salesmen, learning the language of the country where they lived, making place for themselves by their industry. Germany was struggling for room, and the birth rate was increasing the excess of population. The business of German nationalism was to keep them all in Germany and mould them into so much more power behind the sea wedge. The German teaching—that teaching of a partisan youth which is never complacent—did not contemplate a world composed of human beings, but a world composed of Germans, loyal to the Kaiser, and others who were not. Within that tiny plot on the earth’s surface the German system was giving more people a livelihood and more comforts for their resources than anywhere else, unless in Belgium.
Germany and her Kaiser believed that she had a mission and the right to more room. Wherever there was an opportunity she appeared with his aggressive paternalism to get ground for Germanic seed. The experience of her opportunistic fishing in the troubled waters of Manila Bay in ’98 is still fresh in the minds of many Americans. She went into China during the Boxer rebellion in the same spirit. She had her foot thrust into every doorway ajar and was pushing with all her organised imperial might, which kept growing.
I never think of modern Germany without calling to mind two Germans who seem to me to illustrate German strength—and weakness. In a compartment on a train from Berlin to Holland some years ago, an Englishman was saying that Germany was a balloon which would burst. He called the Kaiser a vain madman and set his free English tongue on his dislike of Prussian boorishness, aggressiveness, and verbotens. I told him that I should never choose to live in Prussia; I preferred England or France; but I thought that England was closing her eyes to Germany’s development. The Kaiser seemed to me a very clever man, his people on the whole loyal to him; while it was wonderful how so great a population had been organised and cared for. We might learn the value of co-ordination from Germany, without adopting militarism or other characteristics which we disliked.
The Englishman thought that I was pro-German. For in Europe one must always be pro or anti something; Francophile or Francophobe, Germanophile or Germanophobe. I noticed the train-guard listening at intervals to our discussion. Perhaps he knew English. Many German train-guards do. Few English or French train-guards know any but their own language. This also is suggestive, if you care to take it that way.
When I left the train, the guard, instead of a porter, took my bag to the custom house. Probably he was of a mind to add to his income, I thought. After I was through the customs he put my bag in a compartment of the Dutch train. When I offered him a tip, the manner of his refusal made me feel rather mean. He saluted and clicked his heels together and said: “Thank you, sir, for what you said about my Emperor!” and with a military step marched back to the German train. How he had boiled inwardly as he listened to the Englishman and held his temper, thinking that “the day” was coming!
The second German was first mate of a little German steamer on the Central American coast. The mark of German thoroughness was on him. He spoke English and Spanish well; he was highly efficient, so far as I could tell. After passing through the Straits of Magellan, the steamer went as far as Vancouver in British Columbia. Its traffic was the small kind which the English did not find worth while, but which tireless German capability in details and cheap labour made profitable. The steamer stopped at every small West, South, and Central American and Mexican port to take on and leave cargo. At any hour of the night anchor was dropped, perhaps in a heavy ground-swell and almost invariably in intense tropical heat. Sometimes a German coffee planter came on board and had a glass of beer with the captain and the mate. For nearly all the rich Guatemala coffee estates had passed into German hands. The Guatemaltecan dictator taxed the native owners bankrupt and the Germans, in collusion with him, bought in the estates.
Life for that mate was a battle with filthy cargadores in stifling heat; he snatched his sleep when he might between ports. The steamer was in Hamburg to dock and refit once a year. Then he saw his wife and children for at most a month; sometimes for only a week. In any essay-contest on “Is Life Worth Living?” it seemed to me he ought to win the prize for the negative side.